Quiet
by LuthAn
Summary: His decision to leave Bella at the beginning of "New Moon" seems inexplicable, but Edward Cullen always has a reason for every action. As Bella slowly rebuilds her life in Forks, what exactly is happening with Edward? EPOV.
1. Prologue: Release

"_Death, be not proud, though some have called thee  
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so." -- John Donne  
_

**PROLOGUE:**** Release**

Well. It was decided. For the briefest of instants, I remained in the dark, dank space, clutching the tiny silver phone in my hand. I was mildly surprised at the emotion that coursed through my body; surprised because I had felt not much but emptiness for the past few months, and surprised because even _had_ I expected an emotion to come coupled with my decision, it would not have been _this _emotion.

Ah, but what exactly _was_ I feeling? Anger? Nervousness? Excitement?No sane human would feel _excited_ to finally hang up his trifle of a life and walk voluntarily toward death. Then again, I was hardly normal, and I certainly was not human. I named the strange feeling excitement, then, and my focused my energy on the exact steps I would have to take next.

This entire thought process took perhaps two seconds, and I knew the next thoughts would take an even shorter interval. After all, I had spent more than enough time plotting out the path I would follow as soon as I heard those fateful words. And now that she, now that my _everything_ had left me and gone to the only irretrievable place in the universe, it was only a matter of taking the first step toward my last.

There would be repercussions to my actions, of course. I had considered them, weighed them, hardly ceased thinking about them. I had spent time grieving them—my family, my friends. It seemed foolish to say I would "miss" them, for being able to say I "missed" someone would imply that I was capable of feeling anything, something that had not been true for many months now. But it did… _pain_ me to think of my brothers and my sisters. To think of Esme. Was Rosalie right? Did Esme really love me beyond all the others, or was that just Rosalie's jealous vanity clouding the truth again? Regardless, this shock would hit my mother hard. Almost too hard. And Carlisle. Carlisle, who I looked up to more than anyone. Carlisle, who I loved more than anyone. Anyone except _her_, of course. Anyone except my Bella. My Bella who was now gone. Yes, the repercussions would hurt my family and pain those whom I loved. But this remorse would not cloud my decision, would not deter my course.

Inexplicably, the lyrics to a Paul Simon song flashed through my brain. I did not have the mental fortitude to consider why I thought of them, or what part of my brain had dredged up this particular tune. I was bemused and also disappointed that one of my final thoughts would be from the better half of Simon & Garfunkel instead of someone respectable like Goethe or Rilke, but now was not the time for such matters. Instead, I let the words pass through my subconscious: _I am heading for a time of quiet, when my restlessness is past_… The obscure song nagged at me, pulled my thoughts back to a place they didn't want to go: the future. What would happen once my grand plan was in motion? Where exactly _was_ I heading? I knew Carlisle and I had different opinions on this matter, and I knew that my thoughts were infinitely bleaker. A time of quiet? Perhaps. Regardless, it was over. I was ready to leave.

Somehow I made my way to Rio de Janeiro's main airport. The noise of it hit me hard—I had nearly forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by throngs of humans and the accompanying low din of hundreds and hundreds of thoughts. I smiled ruefully as I cursed the year I had spent learning Portuguese—without it, these thoughts would be nothing more than music to me, humming along in a foreign key. Instead, I was bombarded with messages of love, of welcome, of goodbye. It was nearly overwhelming. But I had spent enough time numbing my senses that it was easy enough to tune them out as soon as I got my mental bearings.

My feet traveled of their own accord to the nearest ticket counter, and in a matter of minutes, I was booked on a series of flights from Rio to Florence. First class all the way, because why not travel in comfort when you're on your way to certain death?

Waiting for life at human speed used to be an interminable chore. How funny, then, that I was now waiting for death, and was strangely unperturbed by it? I would use this time to cycle through the manifold options for my demise, always keeping care not to finalize my choice for fear that Alice would see my future and foolishly try to avert it.

Another pitiful chuckle escaped my frozen lips as I thought about my pixie of a sister. I felt a brief pang of guilt at the terror this must be causing her, but the moment soon passed. It was nothing more than a flash in the pan, as fleeting as the final moments of my life would be. Certainly they had known this was coming.

I became vaguely aware of the time as I mentally calculated the number of seconds I had left to live. It was an estimation, of course—I had no idea when exactly the Volturi would choose to destroy me. Yet the number seemed so concrete to me. It was nice to know that I would only be forced to remain in this tortured waste of an existence for a finite amount of time, and I was content to watch the seconds tick away in my mind.

My eyes flashed down to my ticket to see which gate would be the first of a series on the path to my hell. As I glanced at the paper in my hands, I noted the date, and barked out yet another disturbing laugh: I would arrive in Volterra just in time to stage my final act on Saint Marcus Day. There was a sort of beautiful, haunting irony to it all.

My thoughts shifted from place to place as I took my seat on the 747. I lingered on some of my favorite memories: Bella in our meadow, Bella at the prom, Bella on her birthday, before the terrible incident had happened… The captain's voice over the loudspeaker cut into my reverie, but soon enough we were in the air and I leaned back into the leather seat, my mind quiet, waiting for my release…

* * *

**Author's Note:**Well, since we're all waiting with bated breath to see if _Midnight Sun_ will ever be resumed, I decided to take matters into my own hands and explore Edward's world for a while. Don't really know what will come of it, but I hope you enjoy!


	2. One: Worry

**Author's Note:**Uh-oh. I can kind of feel this story taking over my life, which is both good and bad news. At the very least, there are a couple chapters in the pipeline, so expect weekly updates. While I love playing in S. Meyers' universe (with her words, that is), I also can't wait to get my hands on Edward free from the constraints of the text, so we'll see how that goes. That all being said, all the dialogue in this chapter was written by Stephenie Meyer and can be found between pages 17 and 23 of _New Moon_. As a standard disclaimer: The characters and some of the words belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just playing with them. Happy reading!

**ONE:**** Worry**

September thirteenth was polarizing opinions far more than any Tuesday ought. On the one hand, Alice was over the moon. Her extensive, excessive planning had completely consumed her mind for the past week or so, causing me to actually tune her out—something I didn't often have to do. However, there were only so many hours I could listen to an internal debate on the merits of gardenias before it all became too much.

On the other hand—though I had no way to be certain, of course—Bella seemed to be wishing that the entire world would just skip over the thirteenth and just segue right into the fourteenth. Oh, and she would love to remain seventeen, while the world was at it. Her normal disgust for birthdays, celebrations, and gifts had been magnified a hundredfold since Labor Day, which I found mildly hilarious. Any time the dreaded day was mentioned, she twisted her features into that adorable scowl and stared daggers at the offending suspect. Mike Newton—always a pleasure to interact with—got the brunt of it on Monday, casually wishing her a happy early birthday from across the lunch table. Needless to say, reading his normally banal thoughts was quite enjoyable as he withered under the infamous Swan glare.

It didn't take a mind reader to understand why Bella was so upset. She foolishly believed that with each additional day she aged, the chasm between us opened to more unfathomable distances. And since this day would make her _technically_ older than me, she was especially gloomy. No amount of persuasion could convince her that it didn't matter, not even my patented "dazzling" method, which I unfairly sprung on her at sporadic intervals.

Of course I didn't mind if she grew another year older. Another year meant more human experiences for her, more _life_ to enjoy. And maybe, just maybe, she would find something that would make her want to stay in this world, make her forget her doggedly persistent quest to abandon her soul. Abandon it by _my_ hands, too. Or my teeth, as it were. Yes, in my mind, eighteen brought a world full of opportunities. Graduation, college, getting out of Forks… events I fervently hoped would turn the tide against the prospect of soulless immortality.

To me, Bella would always be beautiful. As horrifically cliché as that sounded, it was true. The days and years might change her physically, but it truly did not matter. She would always be my Bella, the same girl I fell in love with. Until I could make her understand this, though, birthdays remained a touchy subject.

We made it through the school day with only one or two minor incidents of woefully misguided well-wishers—even Jessica Stanley knew that today of all days, she needed to keep her mouth shut. I snuck in just one "Happy birthday" as Bella clambered into her monstrosity of a vehicle, but by then, her rebuke was feeble, and it was easy to see her resolve was wearing thin. I smiled—Alice would be pleased.

Now lying together on Charlie's old sofa, I could tell she was beginning to relax, to unclench her muscles and let the tension of the day evaporate. This was perhaps my favorite way to be with Bella. Her body melded with mine as if we two were carved from one stone—except that only one of us actually had the consistency of marble. A tiny shiver ran down her spine as her body reacted to my icy temperature, and I pulled the faded blue afghan from the sofa and tucked her into it. She twisted her head around to me and smiled, the picture of serenity, though her heart was telling a different story. It beat a ragged tattoo as it always did when I touched her, the only infallible indication I ever had of her true feelings.

The movie of the day was _Romeo and Juliet_, though we both had substantial portions of it memorized—her out of love for the words, me out of the sheer magnitude of time I had spent on this earth. As the actors recited the familiar lines, I frowned. At some point in my long life, I had given up on this play. Everyone always went to pieces over the all-consuming love of the titular characters, but they failed to acknowledge that Romeo's fate comes from his own wanton self-destruction, his unrelenting tendency to wreck his and Juliet's happiness. "You know, I've never had much patience with Romeo," I said, my eyes on Bella rather than the TV screen.

She turned her head to face me again. "What's wrong with Romeo?"

She was offended, which was incredibly endearing. I gave her a patronizing smile, which deepened the little furrow in her brow, much to my eternal delight. "Well, first of all, he's in love with this Rosaline—don't you think it makes him seem a little fickle? And then, a few minutes after their wedding, he kills Juliet's cousin. That's not very brilliant. Mistake after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any more thoroughly?" I unleashed my latent stream of literary criticism, much to her dismay.

I felt Bella's shoulders droop as she sighed, apparently unwilling to mount a defense to counter my attack. "Do you want me to watch this alone?"

I never wanted to do _anything_ alone anymore. "No, I'll mostly be watching you, anyway," I said, which was the truth. My mind was occupied by Bella, and so, it seemed, were my fingers. I ran them up and down her arm, idly tracing patterns on her ivory skin. As always, I loved to watch her human reactions to my touch—goosebumps were a personal favorite—and I grinned. "Will you cry?" Another favorite.

"Probably, if I'm paying attention."

I could make that very difficult for her: the sides of my lips involuntarily curled up into a malicious grin as I moved to press them into the soft brown hair at the back of her neck. "I won't distract you then." I inhaled deeply, craving that familiar burn—the burn that had been dulled by time and practice, but still excited me in the most unbelievable ways. Her scent still intoxicated me, its potency unchanged, and I moved a fraction of an inch closer—probably too little to even attract her notice.

I remained nestled in her hair for much of the film, occasionally pressing my lips against the nape of her neck just to feel, hear, see the blood pulse through her throat and flood her cheeks with that beautiful soft pink. As the film progressed, I lifted my hand from where it had been resting on her arm and traced one long line up the side of her body, stopping to caress her warm, flushed cheek. "See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!" I murmured in time with Romeo, then positioned myself so my mouth was mere millimeters from her ear: "O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!" She exhaled sharply, then seemingly forgot to take in another round of oxygen. I smiled and continued to murmur Romeo's lines in her ear until I became actually concerned that she had stopped breathing.

When I was assured her lungs were functioning properly again, I let my mind wander, thinking first of my sublime good fortune. Would it always be like this? _Could_ it always be like this? I would stay by her side come hell or high water, as long as she lived. Of course, when she died—being blessed with the gift of mortality—I would follow shortly thereafter. What could this world possibly hold for me without her?

The actual act of my death was another matter entirely: a stumbling block, but not an insurmountable obstacle. I had considered the necessary steps before…

I did not like to remember those fateful days in Phoenix last spring. The only pleasure I ever took from those memories was the utter satisfaction of knowing that James was dead and gone, and could no longer haunt my beloved. But had he succeeded… had I been too late… Well, I had made contingency plans. I was a Cullen, after all.

I drifted back to the present and found that Juliet's death was upon us. The scene was an all-too-accurate reflection of my macabre thoughts. Bella was crying now, as expected, and I wiped away the stream of her tears with a lock of her hair. "I'll admit, I do sort of envy him here," I said, hoping to break the depressing silence and brighten my own mood.

She sniffled quietly and spoke in a watery voice: "She's very pretty."

If I could have spit, I would. Instead, I settled for a disgusted grunt. Only Bella would assume that I was envious of Romeo because of Juliet's beauty, stemming from her ludicrous insecurity complex. Would she _ever_ believe me when I said she was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on? Would she _ever_ believe me when I said that _I_ was clearly the lucky one in this unlikely pairing of ours? My frustration at this, our eternal debate, spurred me to say something I hadn't planned to, though I knew I needed to keep it light: "I don't envy him the _girl_—just the ease of suicide. You humans have it so easy! All you have to do is throw down one tiny vial of plant extracts…"

Her reaction was predictable. She practically sputtered. "What?"

I shrugged, wondering how much I should reveal, how much she could handle, what her reaction would be. "It's something I had to think about once, and I knew from Carlisle's experience that it wouldn't be simple. I'm not even sure how many ways Carlisle tried to kill himself in the beginning… after he realized what he'd become…" _Stop, Edward_, I had to think_. Bring it back to the light—it's her birthday! _I did an about-face in my mind and tried to make my eyes dance, if such a thing were possible. "And he's clearly still in excellent health."

She turned around on the couch so she was fully facing me, and I couldn't help but notice that her fingers rested lightly on my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to take her warm hands between my own and tell her it would be all right, tell her that I had entertained these notions only because I thought she was going to be gone from me. Now that we were assured of forever, there was no need to worry… But something stopped me. Some part of me turned from these comforting thoughts, as if I were balking from a lie…

Her angry words shook me back from this strange place. "What are you talking about? What do you _mean_, this something you had to think about once?" Her chocolate eyes glinted with a hard fury, but there was something else there—what was it? Panic?

"Last spring, when you were… nearly killed…" It was getting too dark again. Must keep it light… I inhaled deeply, again letting her scent infiltrate my entire being. "Of course I was trying to focus on finding you alive, but part of my mind was making contingency plans. Like I said, it's not as easy for me as it is for a human." I was teasing, but I knew she could feel the truth behind my jest, perceptive creature that she was.

For a moment, I knew we were both taken away, on a haunting trip down memory lane. She had no way of knowing that the fateful events in Phoenix had already clouded my thoughts for a good number of Romeo's soliloquies, and I hated being the one to inflict this pain upon her. Again, however, I fought the compelling desire to enfold her in my arms, smooth her hair, and whisper soothing words. My thoughts would not, _could_ not be a balm to her right now. _Why?_ A nagging part of my mind was keeping secrets from itself, and it unnerved me.

A movement out of the corner of my eye drew my full attention back to Bella. She had moved her fingers from their resting place on my stomach and was now tracing them along the equally cold crescent-shaped scar on her hand, the permanent physical reminder of my utter failure as a protector. "Contingency plans?" she asked, her voice timid.

"Well, I wasn't going to live without you," I said with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. _Keep it light, keep it light_. "But I wasn't sure how to do it—I knew Emmett and Jasper would never help… so I was thinking maybe I would go to Italy and do something to provoke the Volturi."

The Volturi. That mysterious, mythical Italian coven, the keepers of order and power in our world. In many ways, they were an enigma to me, though they had at one time enjoyed a close relationship with Carlisle. The Volturi seemed to be a contradiction in terms: supposedly the most upright of us all, keeping the streets safe and the secret safer. And yet, their methods were… suspect, to say the least. Aro's inner circle, while seemingly pale, frail, and innocuous, was actually a highly-trained, highly-skilled arsenal of weapons more deadly than any missiles rotting away in Russian silos.

Thankfully, the course of my life thus far had not necessitated interaction with the Volturi—a passing acquaintance with them was far beyond what any one of our kind ever wished for. Yet though I knew them little, I knew they would have been my one and only option had that darkest of days come to pass. And when it would come in the future, would I have the strength to turn to the Italians and have them end my life, or would I be selfish enough to roam the earth, to haunt the steps where she once tread?

"What is a _Volturi_?" her childish naivety scattered my chilling thoughts, though they did not flee completely.

"The Volturi are a family," I said, struggling to push the last bits of despair from the corners of my mind. "A very old, very powerful family of our kind. They are the closest thing our world has to a royal family, I suppose. Carlisle lived with them briefly in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in America—do you remember the story?"

"Of course I remember," she stated, and I gave her a human-length moment to reflect.

My thoughts were pulled back to the "royal" family, and a phrase unwittingly flitted across the plane of my mind's eye: _Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men_. But no, the Volturi were not the "bad guys," as Bella would say. In our world, with the line between right and wrong so irrevocably blurred, was that distinction even possible? Or were we _all_ the bad guys? Certainly none of us could claim to be wholly good, purely munificent. Except Carlisle, of course, but he was always the exception, never the rule.

_I_ certainly put myself in the 'bad' column, as I was blatantly, wantonly, _mercilessly_ corrupting the life of innocent Bella. I was a monster, plain and simple. I was no better than those of my kind who feasted on human blood, though their murdering was physical and mine spiritual. I had been too selfish to stay away from Bella, and now I had forever tainted her thoughts and made it seemingly impossible for her to lead a normal life, as obsessed as she now was with immortality. If she ever were to get her wish—I inwardly shuddered at the thought—I would be fully responsible for the most heinous of all acts: the forced surrender of her beautiful, perfect soul.

Though I cursed my foolish cowardice on the inside, my words came out with practiced calm: "Anyway, you don't irritate the Volturi. Not unless you want to die—or whatever it is we do." I tossed the words out casually, nonchalantly, as if they didn't mean anything. As if they didn't address the question that had so often plagued my thoughts during those days in Phoenix: what happens when _we_ die?

In a movement that nearly startled me with its swiftness, she gripped the sides of my face, her delicate hands pressing into my skin with as much force as she could muster, though I could hardly feel it. She fixed her eyes on mine. "You must never, never, never think of anything like that again! No matter what might ever happen to me, you are _not allowed_ to hurt yourself!"

Her attempt to be stern would have been impressive were her words not so utterly absurd. "I'll never put you in danger again, so it's a moot point." I wanted to shrug, but I knew that would only upset her further.

Sure enough, her anger seemed to be simmering right under the surface: "_Put_ me in danger! I thought we'd established that all the bad luck is my fault? How dare you even think like that?"

_Ha_. She was indignant, as always, and refusing to believe that I had been the direct cause of all her strife. _When would she learn?_ What could I do to make her realize that without me, her life would be a cakewalk? That the only thing she would have to worry about would be burning Charlie's dinner? Sometimes I wanted to scream these thoughts at her, but I knew they would do no good. Bella was nothing if not stubborn, and her refusal to accept that I was dangerous to her was absolute.

So I tried a different tack. "What would you do, if the situation were reversed?"

She hesitated for a brief instant before responding, "That's not the same thing."

I laughed, and hoped it didn't sound too rueful. Not the same thing? _Ha_.

Bella was not done with her tirade, though the anger was giving way to worry, and her rouge cheeks were being drained of their color: "What if something did happen to you? Would you want me to go _off_ myself?"

My mind froze at the mere suggestion created by her worlds. I felt so hollow, so cold, so _angry_ at the thought of Bella doing something to intentionally hurt herself. Had I a heart, it would have been thumping like mad as this painful thought wracked my body. Yet though this torture ran its course inside my body, I knew my face would give away only a fraction of my anguish. "I guess I see your point… a little." I would give her that much. "But what would I do without you?" This was a question that had only one answer, and it was one Bella was insistent upon ignoring.

"Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your existence."

_She_ complicating _my_ existence? The ridiculousness of that notion was simply baffling. My thoughts wanted to express themselves as a harsh bark of a laugh, but I suppressed the feeling and merely sighed. "You make that sound so easy." Sure, I would just go back to living my normal life: I would watch football with Emmett and help Esme renovate old houses… I couldn't even continue the charade in my head; that's how absurd her suggestion was. The very thought of it made me angry. Could she honestly believe I would be able to exist in the same way if she were to die?

"It should be. I'm not really that interesting."

Apparently, she could. Once again, Bella had grotesquely underestimated her power over me. I wanted to tell her this, wanted to try to explain—for the millionth time—the depth of what she meant to me, but I just couldn't. Not with her sorrowful eyes looking up at me, probing the depths of my own, testing them for signs of weakness. She would not be moved. Not tonight. "Moot point," I whispered in my final defense.

Any discussion would have to wait as I suddenly heard Charlie's cruiser approaching the house. His mind was relatively quiet—I had grown accustomed to this—but he sounded like he was in a good mood. Still, no need to push it. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and moved Bella identically, keeping a respectable distance between us.

"Charlie?" she asked with a smile.

I returned it as she grabbed my hand, and moments later, we both heard Charlie shut the cruiser door and approach the house. Before he reached the door, I caught his scent, and the scent of the large pepperoni pizza he was carrying. From Papa Giorgio's, if my nose was correct—and it usually was.

Charlie opened the door and came to poke his head into the living room. "Hey, kids," he said good-naturedly, beaming at his daughter. "I thought you'd like a break from cooking and washing dishes from your birthday. Hungry?" He nodded at the pizza box in his hands that was, in fact, from Papa Giorgio's.

Bella smiled at him, and I knew it was a weak smile only because he had mentioned the dreaded b-word. "Sure. Thanks, Dad."

We moved in tandem to the kitchen, where Charlie's quiet, pleasant thoughts floated around the bright room. He had long since stopped grumbling—inwardly or outwardly—about my persistent, polite denials of food. Instead, he sat silently at the table and watched as I pulled a seat out for Bella.

_Unfailingly polite, he is, just like his father_.

I appreciated Charlie's thoughts. I know he had his reservations about our relationship, like any good father, but the depth of his love for Bella was a tribute to the kind of man he was. If anything were to happen to Bella, it would end him. I would hate to be at all involved in that pain.

I watched the two of them eat, keeping up with the small talk until we had exhausted all the usual topics. Though the conversation was trivial, it was a welcome distraction from the cloudy thoughts that continued to threaten my mind like a storm. Why was I so focused on the negative—even _more_ than usual? Had Bella's anti-birthday attitude begun to rub off on me? I desperately hoped that Alice's party would make things better, though a significant part of me seriously doubted that hope.

The pizza was nearly gone—Charlie was a very good eater—when I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly seven. "Do you mind if I borrow Bella for the evening?" I asked.

_Not at all! Mariners game comes on soon—wouldn't want Bella to have to suffer through that on her birthday… Better sound a _little_ reluctant to let her go, though._

"That's fine," Charlie responded after he let a moment pass. "The Mariners are playing the Sox tonight, so I won't be any kind of company… Here," he said as he tossed his birthday present to Bella.

I smiled at his surprising faith in his daughter's hand-eye coordination, then laughed as the camera inevitably escaped Bella's awkward swipe and headed for the linoleum floor. I grabbed it in a flash, careful not to move _too_ quickly.

_That boy should play ball!_ "Nice save," Charlie said to me. "If they're doing something fun at the Cullens' tonight, Bella, you should take some pictures. You know how your mother gets—she'll be waiting to see pictures faster than you can take them."

"Good idea, Charlie," I agreed, hoping I didn't sound too much like a suck-up. Charlie's thoughts didn't seem to be trending that way, so I was in the clear. I was still smiling when Bella turned the camera on me and snapped a picture.

"It works," she said triumphantly, more pleased at her surreptitious shutterbuggery than at the function of the camera, I surmised.

"That's good," Charlie said, his mind already wandering toward all things baseball.

How a person could be so consumed by the pre-game discussion of ERAs, RBIs, and the like was beyond me. Then again, I spent the majority of my days focused on one thing and one thing only, so to each his own…

"Hey," Charlie continued. "Say hi to Alice for me. She hasn't been over in a while." He frowned a bit, which made me smile. Charlie's reverence for Alice was a soft spot with me, and I knew Alice adored him in return.

"It's been three days, Dad," Bella said with the tiniest roll of her eyes, though I knew she, too, loved the camaraderie between her energetic best friend and her taciturn father. "I'll tell her."

"Okay. You kids have fun tonight," Charlie said dismissively, his body starting to go where his mind already was.

I beamed at my beloved and grabbed her perfect hand, pulling her out the door and to her truck, girding my mental loins for the onslaught of birthday-related complaint that I was sure would come soon.

But it was worth it. Her hatred of birthdays was one of her many endearing qualities, and though the hatred of this particular birthday was a little more loaded, I refused to let that affect us now. We were together, we were happy, that was all that mattered.

So why was I so worried?


	3. Two: Burden

**Author's Note: **Apologies for the delay in updates--real life placed a few extra constraints on my time. But here we are now at the beginning of the end. As usual, the dialogue in this chapter was written by Stephenie Meyer, and can be found starting on page 23 of _New Moon_. The characters are hers as well and no infringement is intended. Expect another update relatively soon, and happy reading!

**TWO:**** Burden**

I pushed the worry out of my mind as I opened the door of her truck. Knowing that she was mentally arguing with my insistence on driving made me smile, but she didn't verbalize her complaint, so I was free to get in the driver's side.

God, how I hated this thing. Sure, it was an antique and Bella loved it, but it was an utter piece of crap. If I weren't so worried about her getting into an accident every time she got behind the wheel, I would be more than fine with letting her drive it. There were few things in the world more frustrating to me than being forced to go no faster than fifty-five. The roar of the engine was a cacophony in my head, and I found myself wondering how something could produce so much noise and so little power.

"Take it easy," Bella cautioned, no doubt taking notice of the tightening of my knuckles on the wheel.

_Ha._ "Easy" was the only way this truck _could_ take it. If she would just let me fiddle around under the hood, supercharge the engine… Or better yet… "You know what you would love? A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots of power…"

It was very easy to picture my beautiful Bella behind the wheel of a beautiful car. Of course, a car that fast could pose lots of problems, so maybe I'd be better off picturing her in the passenger seat of a beautiful car…

No surprise, she wouldn't hear of it: "There's nothing wrong with my truck. And speaking of expensive nonessentials, if you know what's good for you, you didn't spend any money on birthday presents."

"Not a dime," I said, raising my hand as a sign of honor. It was true: her present had cost me nothing but my time, which was in as great a supply as my money, but so much more thrilling to spend. She would love the CD—of this I was perfectly convinced. And it was a great comfort to me as well, knowing that were we ever to be separated, she could have something to think of me.

The thought of being parted from Bella, no matter how temporarily, brought back the all-too-familiar gnawing feeling in my stomach. How I wished the feeling could be explained by some human dolor, some indigestion… But I knew that was impossible. I knew it was something more. Just… what?

"Good," she stated, shaking me out of my trance.

I knew I had to get my mind off the nagging feeling, and there was something I needed to warn Bella about anyway: "Can you do me a favor?"

"That depends on what it is."

I sighed, frustrated at her answer. She was too smart to blindly comply, of course, but I wasn't sure she was going to like what I had to say. No, I was _positive_ she wasn't going to like it. "Bella, the last real birthday any of us had was Emmett in 1935. Cut us a little slack, and don't be too difficult tonight. They're all very excited." My family was nothing if not dedicated to the pursuit of normality. Birthdays were a very, very big deal, even if they were only nominal, so being able to watch someone _actually_ turn a year older was nothing short of monumental.

"Fine, I'll behave."

"I probably should warn you…" I braced myself again to be the bearer of bad news.

"Please do."

"When I say they're all excited… I do mean _all_ of them." I hazarded a glance sideways to gauge the reaction on her face. It was… not great.

"Everyone?" She sort of sputtered the word, her face starting to lose its color. I knew of whom she was afraid: "I thought Emmett and Rosalie were in Africa?"

"Emmett wanted to be here," I said delicately, thinking that maybe we could sidestep the real issue.

"But… Rosalie?"

Damn. Of course she knew what I was hinting at. Clever girl. Now to diffuse the situation: "I know, Bella. Don't worry, she'll be on her best behavior."

It was sort of true. I had pleaded with Rosalie to lose her ice queen persona for just one night, to make the evening about _Bella_, not about her, but it was thus far unclear whether she would comply. She had directed some semi-encouraging thoughts my way, but when I caught her off her guard, the resentment was clear.

It wasn't that Rosalie hated Bella as a person. She simply hated the _idea_ of Bella. She hated the fact that someone had finally come along and caught my eye—something _she_ had never been able to do. It wasn't jealousy, at least not in the most traditional sense of the word. Rosalie didn't have feelings for me, and was head-over-heels in love with Emmett. Still, every time she looked at Bella, the most awful things would flow through that perfectly coiffed blonde head of hers. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut—most of the time.

_Burden_. That was one of the words most often shouted in Rosalie's thoughts. Bella was a burden on Rosalie's life. Bella was the reason Emmett and Rosalie had packed up and pretended to go away to college after their umpteenth high school graduation. I had to stay with Bella, so Rosalie had to leave. Pushed out of her house by an ordinary mortal girl. Pushed out of her house by a burden.

_Is she worth it?_ Rosalie would scream at me in her weakest moments. _Is she worth all the sacrifice?_

There was no doubt in _my_ mind, of course, and the rest of my family was firmly on Bella's and my side. They knew I would do anything for my beloved, and they supported me. Only Rosalie raised opposition. Only Rosalie spouted poisonous thoughts like a fountain, constantly reminding me that it was not meant to be, that it would not end well.

Was she right?

I had to change the subject, and fast. "So, if you won't let me get you the Audi, isn't there anything that you'd like for your birthday?"

Bella waited an infinitesimal moment before answering, and when she spoke, it was in a whisper: "You know what I want."

_Damn._ That was the one thing I didn't want to think about. Not tonight. Not now. How could I stave off the dark thoughts creeping around the edges of my mind when she brought up the one thing that fed them, that caused their very genesis? "Not tonight, Bella. Please."

"Well, maybe Alice will give me what I want."

I growled, the sound emanating from me at almost the same pitch as the truck's engine. As I had done a thousand, a _million_ times before, I cursed myself for getting her into this mess. I cursed myself for letting her fall in love with me and volunteering to give up that most precious, human thing. I cursed myself for cursing her.

"This isn't going to be your last birthday, Bella."

"That's not fair!" she whined, actually banging her fists against the seat, a teenager trapped in a two-year-old's tantrum.

I ground my teeth together, relishing in the diversion of the tension I felt and the way it forced me to keep my mouth shut. _If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all_. The childhood mantra repeated itself in my head, and I decided to heed its advice. We would not discuss the matter further. Besides, we were almost home, and soon Bella would be too distracted by Alice's decorations to even think about it.

Alice had really outdone herself this time. The house looked beautiful, which would almost certainly infuriate Bella. Sure enough, we pulled into the driveway, and I heard her moan as she took it all in. It was almost comical. "This is a party. Try to be a good sport," I reminded her.

"Sure."

Her tone let me know that she would cooperate, though I knew the graver issue had not been fully pushed from her mind. Still, her generosity toward my family never ceased to overwhelm me. I knew she would put on a good show for Alice.

"I have a question," she said as I helped her out of the truck. My brow furrowed of its own accord, and the warning bells went off in my head. Was she really going to bring it all up again?

"If I develop this film, will you show up in the picture?"

Wonderful. Simply wonderful. I couldn't even answer the question I was laughing so hard. Dear, sweet, naïve Bella, who would perhaps never be convinced that fully ninety-nine percent of the rumors about vampires were utterly and completely false. I wondered how she had come up with the theory that I would not actually show up in the picture, that I could somehow be immune to the chemical processes of photography. Ludicrous! Emmett would get such a kick out of her question—he always loved hearing the ridiculous theories out there, and knowing this one came straight from the horse's mouth, as it were, would double his pleasure. The thought made me laugh even harder, and my smile did not fade as I saw the embarrassment tinged with frustration on Bella's face. God, she was wonderful.

I pushed open the front door and ushered her into the house, feeling the tension coiled in the muscles of her back. As we entered the living room, my entire family (minus one) burst into a chorus of "Happy birthday, Bella!" This elicited an infamous Swan blush, and Bella looked down at her shoes. I stole a glance around the room, confirming my suspicions that Alice had really gone above and beyond the call of duty on this one. The place was covered in pink, like a giant Barbie playhouse. Pink candles, pink roses, pink cake—I was surprised she hadn't spray-painted my piano.

I slid my arm from the small of Bella's back and moved to cradle her close to me. I kissed her head, the scent of her hair causing me to feel the familiar cocktail of inexplicable ecstasy and insatiable thirst.

I wanted to stay there forever, just taking in her intoxicating scent, but my family would have none of that. Carlisle and Esme started the receiving line, and I used the moment away from Bella to read the thoughts in the room.

Alice was keeping up a running commentary in her head, taking in Bella's reactions to everything in the room, nervous that she wouldn't be happy about it. Jasper was his usual calm self, standing a bit back from the rest of the crowd, but still holding Alice's hand. His thoughts were almost as calm as the emotion on his face, but every now and then I caught a whiff of tension, nervousness. I knew he was still worried about hurting Bella—being the newest recruit to join our lifestyle, he wasn't as practiced as the rest of us. Still, I had every confidence in him, as did we all.

"Sorry about this, Bella. We couldn't rein Alice in," Carlisle said in a mock whisper, surveying the "damage" with his arm around Bella's shoulder. She smiled gamely.

Behind them, Emmett was grinning, and his thoughts matched his smile: _This is hysterical! She looks like she would rather burst into flames than be at this party! This girl is a riot…_

"You haven't changed at all," he boomed as he looked at Bella. "I expected a perceptible difference, but here you are, red-faced just like always." The fact that Bella was an easy blusher would never cease to be the funniest thing in the world to my brother, and every comment he made about it only caused her more embarrassment. It was a vicious—and slightly hilarious—cycle.

"Thanks a lot, Emmett," Bella said, her face reddening as if on cue.

He laughed, and the mirthful sound set the whole room alight, even managing to turn Rosalie's thoughts for a second. Anything that caused her partner such glee couldn't be _that_ bad…

"I have to step out for a second," Emmett said, shooting Alice an obviously conspiratorial wink. "Don't do anything funny while I'm gone."

"I'll try."

He was going out to install Bella's surprise birthday stereo in the truck. It seemed a total waste to put such a beautiful piece of electronics in such a terrible heap of machinery, but really, her current radio was unforgivable.

Alice moved over to Bella, hoping to distract her from Emmett's mysterious absence. Jasper leaned against the stairs, keeping his distance from our human friend, though he still smiled.

"Time to open presents," Alice said, her thoughts abuzz with delight at her favorite part of the evening.

And Bella's least favorite: "Alice, I know I told you I didn't want anything—" she said as Alice scooted her toward the table with the presents and the ridiculous pink cake, her face twisting into a grimace.

"But I didn't listen," Alice said, picking up one of the silver packages and handing it to Bella, deftly taking the camera from her at the same time. "Open it."

Bella clumsily tore the paper from the box as we watched. I knew this would be the box the stereo came in, sure to confuse her. She blinked quizzically as she examined the box and found that it was indeed empty.

"Um… thanks," she said, feigning gratitude in the midst of confusion.

_Like a dog chasing its tail_, Rosalie thought, and I wanted so badly to glare at her, but the smile on her face stopped me. As long as she was smiling, Bella would think she was genuinely happy, and not surreptitiously cruel.

Jasper laughed, but his was genuine: "It's a stereo for your truck," he explained. "Emmett's installing it right now so you can't return it."

Realization dawned on Bella as she realized we had outsmarted her on this one: there was no way she would rip the thing out of her dashboard just in protest of the no presents rule.

"Thanks, Jasper, Rosalie," she said, her beautiful smile lighting up her face. "Thanks, Emmett!" she called, though he would have heard her just as well had she whispered. His only response was a laugh, which echoed around the room. It sounded like he was almost done with the installation.

"Open mine and Edward's next!" Alice said, positively giddy that the party was going so well. She held my CD in her hand, but Bella turned to glare at me.

"You promised," she seethed, but I couldn't defend myself before Emmett bust back into the room.

"Just in time!" he called, moving in close behind Jasper to watch the fireworks.

"I didn't spend a dime," I said, referencing the present in question. I reached forward to brush a stray strand of chocolate hair off her ivory face, taken in as I always was by her exquisite features. I desperately wanted to let my fingers linger there, on her face, her neck, her shoulders… But there would be time for that. Later. There would always be time.

My touch seemed to have placated her. "Give it to me," she said, a true martyr.

Emmett laughed and sent some thoughts my way: _Never in the history of the world has anyone been so upset about a present. And it's a glorified mixtape!_

I grinned at him in return. He was right—the CD was not much of a present. At least not to them. I knew it would mean more to Bella, but I still wished I had been able to truly lavish her. Give her all the presents she so richly deserved.

She seemed to be struggling with Alice's perfect wrapping job, trying in vain to find a gap in the paper. She finally found an edge and slid her finger underneath, about to pry it open. Then, the worst thing imaginable: "Shoot," she muttered, looking at the tiny cut that had opened on her finger.

It all happened so fast. In the most miniscule of moments, my life—_our _lives—changed forever.

The first thought I heard was the most infuriating: _HER BLOOD IS MINE!_

Before Jasper could get her, I lunged, instinct taking over. "NO!" I screamed, throwing myself at my beloved with almost all my force, causing her to fall backward against the table and into the stack of glass plates.

Blood was everywhere, and Jasper was manic. I knew that he was coming at me a split second before it happened, but the collision was still shocking. He was snapping and snarling in my face, trying to get at Bella, and I felt the rage overtake me. I wanted to rip him apart, tear him limb from limb! There were only two thoughts repeating themselves in my mind: Stop Jasper. Protect Bella. I would do whatever it took, even if that meant hurting every single member of my family. She would _not_ be harmed!

Emmett stepped in and wrestled Jasper into a hold, but Jasper still struggled against his captor, still scrambled to get at my Bella. His faded gold eyes were unfocused, darting wildly from one thing to the next, but always trained in the area of the utterly defenseless Bella, sitting in a pile of glass and blood—a disaster created by my own hand.

I didn't know when I had stopped breathing, but my thoughts were too panicked to figure it out. Though only a few seconds had passed, it seemed like an eternity, and I felt helpless, powerless to stop what was surely coming. I heard all the thoughts from around the room, and each petrified me. After all, reason and logic were powerless against the unadulterated potency of Bella's blood.

I had to protect her at all costs. I would kill them all. _She had to survive!_

I was vaguely aware of Carlisle thinking at me, telling me to calm down, that he would handle the situation, but the rage inside of me would not abate. It was all I could think of.

Well, almost all. From somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, a thought floated up, its message a clear portend of what was to come, a clear read on the situation, and I knew I had to listen. I knew _this _time, I could not ignore myself:

_This is the end_.


End file.
